I guess this period of time straight out of JET–no job, no school–was the first time I’d been truly free as an adult. The only responsibilities I had are the ones I made for myself and chose to recognize. They consisted of my family, my health, educating myself, and eventually getting a job. Other than that, my life felt open, uncomplicated. I felt like a recently emptied house, all the windows wide open. Life passed through me, unhindered.

There is often a push for more women-centric films on social media platforms these days. Films that pass the Bechdel test, films where women are the central characters, and especially films where women aren’t on display simply for the pleasure of a heterosexual, cisgendered male audience.

We strive for female characters who are strong in the sense of character depth, rather than physical strength. In other words, she should have presence. She should be someone with a personality, someone whose presence goes beyond the female sidekick, the male gaze, and the stereotypical kickass-woman type. Unfortunately, it is this ‘kickass-woman’ who many filmmakers seem to think ticks the box of having a female character who will ‘appease the feminists’, Western cinema makes a couple efforts to include one or two films featuring female protagonists (amongst hundreds of films per year with the usual male protagonists), and then they sit back expecting a pat on the back. The fact of the matter, however, is that there has always been women-centric cinema, it just doesn’t really exist in Hollywood. Instead, it exists — thrives even — in Asian horror. Most specifically, Japanese and South Korean films.

This is the first installation in a series intended to chronicle my first six months as a JET alum. My goal is to present a condensed, honest, and uninhibited account of my life post-JET.

“You must do the things you think you cannot do.” -Eleanor Roosevelt

I sat against the wall at O’Hare Airport, my phone plugged into an outlet far away from the others. It was July 27, 2013. I called my father, crying. “I can’t do this.” I felt that Japan was a huge mistake. My heart was racing. My idea of life in Japan at that point was that I would go out into a shallow world, not being able to feel it, nor it me. I would hear and see, experience things. But I would be stuck in a surreal, kawaii hell.

I am Vietnamese-American.I’m not Vietnamese. I wasn’t born in Vietnam. I speak the language, but only just. I’ve never been in the country of my ancestors for more than three months at a time. It’s been over 15 years since I’ve been there.My papers say I am American; they say I was born and raised near Los Angeles, California, and I am a citizen of the United States of America. Despite that, I was taught nothing about meatloaf and hamburgers, about how to throw a football or catch a baseball. Much of what I know about “American life” was learned from TV or learned secondhand.

As someone who has come from a very rural part of the US where plant-life can be found no matter how deep into a city one goes, the lack of grass and yards in Japan was a cause of some minor culture shock. Dirt-only parks and the playgrounds at my schools only added to this. It is almost as if Japanese urban planning is a thorough rejection of nature, even in small towns like Iyo.

However, this does not mean that Japanese people as a whole have also come to reject the natural world. Walking down a side street will inevitably lead one past a house that has been covered in potted plants. This set of photos was inspired by these houses with their potted gardens and flowers that have been cultivated in unlikely spots, such as roses and zinnia growing along train tracks.

Words and Photo Story by Michael Haverty, a first year JET living in Iyo City, Chuyo

If you spend enough time in Japan, you will surely begin to notice the stone bead bracelets that many people seem to own or that are sold in a variety of shops, from second-hand stores to matsuri stalls. There is even a store called M’s Power Stone Shop (パワーストーン専門店エムズ) in the Ōkaidō (大街道) shopping district of Matsuyama. What significance do these little beads hold that they have become so popular? Is it just fashion? If you look more closely, you will see that these bracelets are a sign of a larger spiritual movement bubbling under the surface of Japan.

The famous author and poet Natsume Soseki dedicated one of his renowned haiku to the calming beauty of dark blue Iyo kasuri, a fabric export carrying the name of Iyo Province, modern day Ehime Prefecture. But what is Iyo kasuri exactly?

Threads dyed using the kasuri process

Often translated as “ikat,” kasuri (絣) is a fabric dyeing technique that involves tying cotton around threads before submerging them in a vat of fermenting indigo dye. After being dipped in the vat of dye many times and allowed to oxidize into a dark blue color, the cotton is untied from the threads, leaving behind undyed, white areas. Anyone who has experience with tie-dye would be familiar with this. However, unlike tie-dye, individual threads are dyed instead of an already finished cloth. Patterns are painstakingly calculated and mapped out using bamboo rulers so that when weaved together, the white and blue sections of thread create a repeating pattern. If the dyeing on the thread is off even a little, it can ruin the whole product. The resulting pattern often has a slightly hazy outline, called kasure (掠れ), meaning “blurred” in Japanese, a likely source of the name Iyo kasuri.

Examples of clothing made with Iyo kasuri patterns

This technique came to Japan from India via the Ryukyu islands and spread throughout the country during the Edo and Meiji Periods. However, the Iyo Province version became one of the most well-known with its smooth finish and more lighthearted designs. Matsuyama native Kagiya Kana (1782-1864), considered the mother of kasuri, thought up many of these fanciful designs such as diamonds, 6-pointed star hemp leaves, hexagons, and more. According to legend, she was inspired after watching farmers change the thatching on their roofs. Over time, the bamboo had weathered and aged, but where they had been tied together, the bamboo was its original color.Besides the fun patterns, a few other elements aided in the quick rise of Iyo kasuri’s popularity. The Iyo Province already had a strong textile trade network established by the production of striped cotton fabric. Also, because the dyeing process strengthens the threads used in the fabric, Iyo kasuri was often used as durable but fashionable working clothes, a market that had been largely untapped. Furthermore, traditional hand looms used in Japan were inefficient, taking a lot of time and energy to weave with. However, Shinsuke Kikuya (born in 1773), a merchant with a store in Masakicho who was familiar with textiles, bought a loom from Kyoto and began experimenting with ways to improve it. Eventually, he invented the takabata (高機), an upright, treadle-operated loom which would allow weavers to create fabric much faster and more easily than ever before.Iyo kasuri is alive and well even today. The iconic navy blue and white patterns can be found in everything from kimono to Western-style clothes, hats, coin purses, folding fans, and more. Some dyers have even been inspired by tie-dye and have created a hybrid using Iyo kasuri dying techniques on finished cloth to formtie-dye-like patterns. Other colors outside of dark blue have also been introduced through artificial dyes, expanding Iyo kasuri’s possibilities.One place where Iyo kasuri is alive and well is Mingeiiyokasurikaikan (民芸伊予かすり会館) or the Iyo Kasuri Folk Arts Museum. Located near the Kinuyama Iyotetsu station in Matsuyama, the Iyo Kasuri Folk Arts Museum offers visitors many different experiences for only 100 yen. (You can download their app at the front desk for an English guide to the museum.)

Iyo Kasuri Folk Arts Museum 民芸伊予かすり会館 in Matsuyama, Ehime

The first part of the museum shows the many steps taken in making Iyo kasuri. Set up like a mix between an old Japanese home (where dying originated) and a modern textile factory, visitors can walk through while seeing examples of thread preparation and design creation, tempering the thread by boiling it, the measuring and tying of the threads, dying, untying, winding the warp threads, weaving, and examples of the final products. There are also historic photos of some of the original dyers and weavers running along the wall along with quilts and clothing made of Iyo kasuri.

A modern loom with warp threads of various colors

The next section goes over the history of Iyo kasuri, also including many examples of historical pieces including screens, clothes, and decorative panels. The designs range from simple geometric patterns to depictions of nature, such as birds and fish. A few pieces even display religious figures from Japanese mythology . After learning all of this history and walking past the very tempting gift shop, visitors enter a room filled with indigo vats and looms. For around 2000 yen, visitors can try their hand at making their own Iyo kasuri tie-dye handkerchief. Visitors can also take a turn weaving at a loom. The dyeing can take close to an hour to do, and it closes before the rest of the museum (around 2:30 pm), so I would recommend going early or calling in advance if you want to take part in this.Along with an Ehime-themed dining areaand a gift shop that sells an assortment of Iyo kasuri goods and Ehime-themed omiyage, the museum also houses an exhibit of Ehime folk art. At the end of the route, which loops back to the entrance, is a room filled with handmade paper, pottery, glassware, and much more including, of course, Iyo kasuri.

Bolts of Iyo kasuri fabric along with goods made from it, in various patterns

A dark blue fabric for both the workers and the nobility, painstakingly made by inventive minds, Iyo kasuri is a treasure from Ehime’s history that has spread throughout the country of Japan and into the present. Smooth, durable, and decorated in fun and playful patterns, it is no wonder Iyo’s style of indigo dyed fabric was such an instant hit. It is also no wonder the sight of it in early autumn made Natsume Soseki pause, relax, and find a bit of peace in the fast-paced and quickly modernizing world of Meiji Japan.

Iyo Kasuri Folk Arts Museum foyer with Mikyan cut-out

I would like to thank 民芸伊予かすり会館 and its workers for providing information that was used in the writing of this article.

Written by Michael Haverty, a first year JET living in Chuyo, Ehime. Michael also took the photographs that accompany his article.

This year is the 150th anniversary of two of Matsuyama’s most celebrated literary icons, Natsume Soseki and Masaoka Shiki. Masaoka Shiki was an inspirational human being, for those of you who aren’t familiar with his work, a visit to the Shiki museum in Matsuyama is a must. Shiki achieved many things within his short life, despite being plagued with tuberculosis for the majority of this. Not only did he help to revive the art form of haiku and tanka, he also acted as a war correspondent during the First-Sino Japanese War and coined most Japanese baseball terminology. In honor of Masaoka Shiki’s 150th anniversary, the Mikan presents to you a haiku extravaganza featuring poetry from ALTs across Ehime prefecture. Also featured are photos by Michael Haverty, depicting the impact of both Shiki and Soseki on present day Matsuyama.

Anyone in Ehime knows that there is no shortage of nature here, and no shortage of things to find off the beaten path. From the big to the small, the famous and the unknown, after spending the greater part of the last year performing jinja-meguri (神社巡り, “shrine pilgrimage”) I’m proud to announce what I consider to be the top ten shrines in all of the Chuyo region.

Jen uses some colorful language in this month’s post, so if you find swearing offensive, look away now.

I named her Pig, as a joke. I bought her almost a year ago, even going through the pain of raising my credit limit to get her. She is beautiful, in her own way, though I wish she were bigger. Her shiny black coat catches the last of daylight.

The weather is better now, so I can take her out for rides more often. I sweep the dust and spider webs off her. This is the part that I hate the most. My throat dries out and my awareness sharpens. I hope that I don’t find any arachnids hiding near the engine, under the splashguards, or in the wires that connect to the handles. God forbid that one crawls on my bare hands when I’m going almost twice the speed limit and there’s another car less than three feet to my right. As I continue inspecting, I have a flashback to last summer when I found a spider larger than my palm hiding in the cup holder. I peek in, my goose bumps feeling as though they are bulging, and see only an old leaf that fell last winter.